The Trouble With Trunks (and Guns)
by Snow'sLuckyCat
Summary: Being hit over the head with a gun and then trapped within the trunk of an unfamiliar car is definitely NOT my idea of a good time. (Set during 1x03, "Escapology.")
1. Part One: Vertigo And A Killer Headache

**Title:** The Trouble With Trunks (...and Guns)

 **Author:** Snow'sLuckyCat (aka Sharma)

 **Fandom:** _Deception_ , 2018

 **Categories:** Hurt/Comfort / Humor

 **Characters:** Cameron Black, Kay Daniels, Mike Alvarez + Joan

 **P.O.V.:** 1st person, dual. Chapter 1 is from Cameron's perspective, but Chapter 2 is from Kay's.

 **Spoilers:** Just for 1x03, "Escapology."

 **Summary:** Being hit over the head with a gun and then trapped within the trunk of an unfamiliar car is definitely _NOT_ my idea of a good time.

 **Author's Notes:** What if the probable concussion that Cameron suffered at the hands of those fake FBI agents achieved more of a dent to his disguised sting operation later on at the art museum than was shown during the course of the actual episode?

 **Disclaimer:** It's Chris Fedak's world. I'm just livin' in it, and borrowing his awesome _Deception_ characters for a quick spin around the studio lot. I make no money off of this endeavor, so please don't sue me. Thanks! :)

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 **Part One: Vertigo And A Killer Headache**

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Kay Daniels is suddenly in front of me, her momentary good humor dropping off of her face like a swiftly closing theater curtain. And then everything is shifting. Suddenly, she's no longer standing in front of me with her arms folded tightly folded like some mom about to scold their kid. Now, she's hovering above me. Staring down at me, concern etched upon her face.

"How'd you do that?" I say. My voice's usual crisp diction is slurred however. As if every word is running together. As if I've just been on a bender for the past few hours. Even though I'm sure that didn't happen. Or fairly sure, anyway. All the preceding events that have led up until this moment are a bit fuzzy in my brain right now though.

I try to crawl out of my oddly jumbled mind and back into the present.

My vision finally clears up again, and I notice that Kay's mouth is open, talking, trying to explain _something_ to me, but I can't hear anything at all. It's as if she's staying silent. But, that can't be right. Can it? 'Cuz if there's one thing I know, it's that Kay Daniels doesn't really like magic.

So, instead, I concentrate on her lips to read them. Clever trick I learned from my dad, in amongst all of the other clever bits I learned from him.

But, then, her lips get blurry again, and I'm left back in the figurative dark of further frustrated incomprehension.

"What...the... _hell_?" I puff into the cool night air, my frustration showing in a mild snarl that unexpectedly punctuates the last word.

Receiving no discernible reply, I spiral back into my brain. Is Kay Daniels actually another magician, masquerading as someone she isn't? That would be the biggest trick of all, wouldn't it?

I get my answer to that internal question rather quickly though, pointing towards the negative on my Kay-is-a-secret-magician scale, when a sharp pain jabs itself into the back of my head. Nope. Not a magician then. A secret sadist maybe. But _not_ an illusionist.

 _Wait..._ Something must be wrong with my head. Kay would never deliberately, maliciously hurt me. At least I don't think she would knowingly do so.

"Stop doing that...Kay. ...Hurts." My voice sounds weaker and even more slurred than before. The unknown pressure, meanwhile, simply increases.

I try ineffectually to brush the offending pressure away in protest with my right hand, but another hand gently grabs that arm and guides it back down to my side.

"You're bleeding, Cameron. I'm just trying to slow it down. Try to stay awake, okay? I think you've scored yourself a pretty solid concussion."

"Ow." I mutter in response, complaining dispassionately. But, at least, I seem to be properly hearing again.

"Mike, you go secure the docent. I'll make sure Cam here doesn't get into any more trouble."

"Got it, partner."

The extra set of hands, ones that had apparently been holding my body still, promptly disappear from my line of sight.

"She's got a name, Kay. It's _Joan_ ," I gently correct, as my previously fairly blank memory slots itself back into its normally quick rhythm and rhyme.

"Yeah, well then, _Joan_ hit you with something pretty heavy, Cam."

"Wasn't her. Was one of those big guys with guns that I thought were some more of your FBI guys."

I squirm just a tad, visibly letting Kay know that I want up. That I'm okay to move again.

Reluctantly, she helps me to sit up. Everything sloshes around for a bit, then slowly steadies. Just in time for me to see Mike leading Joan over to our 2-person on-the-ground huddle.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. _**Cameron!?**_ Is _he_ all right?"

At first, the errant blonde docent looks at me tearfully, apologetically. But, she's directing her actual question to Kay, who is apparently supporting my rather sloppy seated position, by kneeling directly behind me.

Kay is shocked silent by this unexpected outpouring of sympathy from a now-known accomplice in our art heist case. But, I had probably saved her life. Again. So, she was showing some genuine concern. Then again, I had been tricked by her innocence before.

"...It was one of the goons that grabbed us. The taller man hit Cameron on the back of the head with the butt of a handgun. He went down - hard - and was out. Then, they dragged us both over to the car and locked us up in the trunk. He literally woke up just a few minutes ago," Joan quickly explains, with about as much detail as a meticulous artist would have about her latest masterwork.

Kay is all business though. Already calculating something. "When was this?"

"About 3 pm. Just a couple of hours after I was released from the hospital. Cameron and I had a lovely coffee date, and..."

Kay stops her with a hand before she can ramble on any further and turns back to me. "It's now closer to 5 pm, Cam."

The news that I'd been trapped in that smelly car trunk for nearly two full hours and unconscious for just about all of that time scares me more than I thought it would. Mainly because I'd never been hit by a gun before. At least not maliciously. In jest? Sure. But, it was always a prop gun, so it never really hurt.

So, this situation is a new one for me. And it's an unsettling experience that I never, ever want to repeat. Now I know exactly what a smashed watermelon must feel like. Not good, that's for sure.

As Mike continues with Joan, past us and towards his government-issued SUV, I clear my throat, mind suddenly working overtime to come up with a viable plan. And also to cover up the discombobulated sensations that I'm still currently feeling.

"...Guys! Hold up a minute. That means the museum closes in one hour! We gotta get back there in time, Kay. 'Cuz Joan wasn't the only one in on it. And the main culprit is about to cash in his stolen art chips. For keeps this time. So, how about it, Joan? Since he sold you up the river, are you up for a little payback time?"

Off of the errant docent's vigorous nod of approval, I smile. Things are finally looking up.

"...First thing's first though. Where _has_ the real Cezanne collection been hiding out since this morning?" I ask.

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 **To Be Concluded...in Part Two.**

 **A/N #2:** Please read & review, people, because reviews let me know if I'm on the right track with things, like certain characters & their distinctive inner & outer voices. :)

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	2. Part Two: In The Line Of Duty

At last, here it is! :)

Part **2** of _**The Trouble With Trunks (... & Guns)**_

See _Part 1_ for official details, disclaimer, & full heading.

 _Author's Notes/A Word of Warning_ : This part veers even more AU than the first part did and is from _Kay's_ perspective.

What if Cam's concussion had caused bigger problems at the art museum sting operation itself? Would Kay and Cam still successfully have caught their man? Or would Dietrich have gotten away? And will Kay finally get her wish of getting Cam looked over by a proper paramedic?

Also? Please remember to leave me some feedback! That's how I can get better at my craft & the characterizations of these awesome characters. Well, thanks again! :D

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 **Part 2: In The Line of Duty**

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From my relatively neutral hiding spot, I see a disguised Cameron Black slightly waver yet again.

Ever since we'd made it back to the museum, he'd been off his game. I know something is up, but I also know that no one else has noticed the same things that I have or the fact that I'm still continuing to notice them.

At the side of a road near the abandoned Laramie construction site about fifteen minutes earlier, he'd shaken off his head injury like it was no big deal.

But, the thinly-veiled pained grimace that he's been sporting since then doesn't speak to the veracity of his earlier dismissal.

In short, Cam is hurting, but hopefully he isn't fading fast too. After all, there's still a criminal for us to catch.

And after this is all over, after we catch our man, I'm personally taking him home, back to The Archive, and making sure he stays put for once and rests.

Turning back to the scene at hand, I see a figure emerge from the shadows. A man I hadn't expected to see. It was the eldest child and only son of the billionaire, Abe Dietrich: Charlie Dietrich. The one who had acted so worried for the art earlier in the day. But, he had actually been the one behind it all.

The art heist, the corruption of Joan, then the ordering of her death when the plan went wrong, not to mention the outright murder of the guy who'd been barking orders over the phone, ransom demands that we all now know were not of his own design, just this morning.

Cameron's purposely keeping his head low, as to further disguise himself in the green jumpsuit of our in-on-the con janitor. He knows his curly light brown hair and piercing blue eyes are dead giveaways, since the two have already met face-to-face and talked.

Through the listening device we'd hidden on Cam's borrowed jumpsuit, I hear his labored breathing. Shit. He's still in pain, and seems to be barely holding it together.

I look behind me for one second to make sure Alvarez and the others are closing in on our positions. But, that second is all it takes for everything to go wrong.

As if everything is going in slow-motion, I see Dietrich shakily pull out a gun and aim it at the disguised Cameron. The other hand though is still firmly wrapped around the rolled up and _real_ Cezanne painting.

"You weren't supposed to see this," I hear him say. Almost sorrowfully.

It's time to make myself known, before the younger Dietrich does something that he will _really_ regret. I step from my shadowy place between two nearby pillars. My own gun is already drawn and trained on the revealed thief. "Freeze! Federal agent! Put the gun down, Dietrich. It's over."

Instead of doing as I command, however, the man tenses up, surprised, and his trembling trigger finger unexpectedly pulls the trigger. An explosion of sound blasts the previous quiet of the museum into oblivion. And Cam falls backwards in the next instant, bonelessly tumbling to the marble floor, baseball cap sliding off his head and skittering a few feet away.

Charlie stands for a moment, shocked that he has pulled the trigger, disbelieving of his own actions. Looking from the still smoking gun to the body crumpled on the marble floor in front of him. And back again. But, then, his eyes harden and he takes off, gun still well in hand, running off into another gallery.

With Dietrich gone, I immediately get on the horn. "Cam's down! Blue team, move in on Charlie Dietrich, the son of the billionaire Abe Dietrich. He's our target. Proceed with extreme caution. Consider him to be armed and dangerous. He's wearing a white shirt, blue jacket, and black slacks and is currently fleeing towards the Picasso Wing. That's a dead end though. No heroics. Bring him in with as little drama possible. We want him alive. And nobody else hurt."

Mike and the rest of the secondary team move in quickly, brushing past me, but also collectively taking a moment to furtively glance at the quiet body collapsed on the floor at my feet.

Once they're fully past us and moving further down the corridor towards their quarry, I hurriedly crouch down beside Cam, looking for any sign of injury. Nothing is jumping out at me though.

Carefully, I fully roll him over, so I can clearly see his face, and he groans painfully in response.

"Cam? Come on. Open your eyes. Talk to me."

Another groan. Bright blue eyes open to mere slits. But, at least, he's still with me.

"Cam, that's it. Stay with me, all right? Is it just your head? Or are you hurt somewhere else too?"

"Right side. My right side _really_ hurts, Kay," he mutters through gritted teeth.

"Scale of 1 to 10? How bad is it?" I ask, already peering closer at that area, but still not seeing anything obvious.

"Oh, I'd say it's at about a 5. Or a 7. Enough about me though. Did we get him? Did we get Charlie?" Cam tries to squirm away from my gentle patting, already trying to get up, eerily similar as to how he'd behaved back by the side of the road, when he'd just collapsed to the sidewalk in the wake of his car trunk escapade with Joan.

"Mike and the others have him cornered. They'll get him. Right now, I'm more worried about you though."

That's when my probing hand slides across a particularly wet, sticky patch starting near his right hip. His breath hitches immediately upon my subtle touch and another groan surfaces.

My worry ratchets up a notch or three. "Shit. I think he actually hit you, Cam. You need to lay back down, right now, so I can see the extent of the damage."

Shocked silent, he lays back down and stops squirming, complying for once. "I think I would feel THAT. Wouldn't I?" he asks, an unusually dreamy quality, a tone that I already dislike, turning his voice softer still.

Carefully, I unbutton the top of his borrowed janitor's uniform, and pull it away from his chest and stomach. Revealing his white t-shirt underneath. And a line of red darkening the cotton there, beginning near his right hip before abruptly carving upwards and ending just underneath his right arm.

The shirt is sticking to the wound itself, but I still can't see it in all its gory glory. Is it in-and-out? From experience, there would be a lot more blood if that is the case and Cameron would still be unresponsive. Not talking. Not joking. Is there an entrance wound, but no corresponding exit one? If so, the result is as before: he wouldn't be trying to get up nor would he even been aware.

"Adrenaline's probably keeping the pain at bay for now. But, that won't last for long. Looks like he just winged you though. You are _supremely_ lucky, Cam. It could've been _a lot_ worse."

But, something is still pulling at my brain. As if to say, something's not quite right here. The trajectory of the bullet's path upon my friend's skin is all wrong. Cam had been standing at almost point-blank range. But, the bullet furrow in his skin isn't straight across from near his hip to near his kidney. It wasn't a horizontal line. At least not completely. It was almost as if he'd started falling _before_ he'd been hit by the .38 caliber bullet.

He'd said he was fine after he'd escaped from the car trunk earlier that day, but he'd also been bleeding from his head. And he'd also seemed to be a bit wobbly, and out of sorts, even after I'd gotten the bleeding under control.

Complications of blood loss and a very probable concussion? My brain runs down the well-rehearsed, well-experienced list. Dizziness, lack of finite coordination, headache, doubled or diminished vision, unusually high sensitivity to both bright light and loud sound. Check. Check. And check. To 98.9% of the above.

The loud echo of the gun's report had reignited the pain in Cam's head, causing him to momentarily blackout due to sensory overload. But, if he hadn't fallen exactly when he did, the bullet's path would've been way more destructive, tearing through vital organs, not just skin and a bit of flesh.

As I'm about to let him have it with both barrels of a lengthy lecture to end all lengthy lectures about properly knowing his body's limits, our little conversation is abruptly stopped by the reappearance of a sullen, silent Dietrich, quickly being escorted by Mike back out to another group of waiting cops.

Upon seeing us again, the now thoroughly handcuffed art thief breaks his silence. By first voicing what seems to be genuine concern for Cam's well-being, similar to Joan's earlier remarks. "Is he okay, Agent Daniels? I didn't mean to actually shoot him. It's just that you surprised me, and..."

"Save it for your lawyer, Dietrich. Even _accidentally_ maliciously wounding a consultant of the FBI is a serious offense. As is robbing a museum of its paintings. You're going away for a long time."

Charlie gasps at my cold tone, but remains speechless, as the full ramifications of what he's done finally comes crashing down upon his psyche.

A second later, Mike, now ringed by the rest of Blue Team, tugs the errant billionaire offspring outside and to his awaiting fate in the back of a cop car, prison-bound at last.

"I'll be back in a few minutes to help you out with Cameron. I'll also get a doctor on the scene."

I nod my thanks as Mike disappears with our quarry well in check.

"So, you got him then. That's great."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without the help of _my beautiful assistant_."

At my clever little turn-the-tables moment delivered at his expense, Cam snorts good-naturedly. But, I sense that his energy is already flagging, so he doesn't make any witty rebuttals.

I kinda _miss_ those witty rebuttals right now. I continue on, already assessing the current situation in terms of success versus failure. "...Or Joan's aid either. Our sting operation and your plan worked well together. We just didn't think Dietrich would be armed when he came back here."

"Then, I guess I'll call it a win."

"Or 85% of one."

"Why so low, Kay? We got the guy, didn't we? That's gotta at least score a 90%."

"First off, _we_ didn't get the guy. _Mike_ got the guy. Secondly? Exactly _when_ were you going to tell me that you were still feeling unwell? Scratch that. Were you _ever_ going to tell me?"

"The thought crossed my mind once or twice, but I knew we couldn't get him if I didn't play my part perfectly. Because, no offense, Kay, you are way too strikingly beautiful to be a janitor. Even a _fake_ one."

"Thanks. I think." I'm going to chalk the last few seconds of Cam's explanation up to the concussion he's suffering from.

A few minutes of awkward silence later, Mike finally returns with a medic in tow.

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We were lucky this time. _Supremely_ , **unbelievably** lucky. We could've lost Dietrich. But we also could've lost Cameron. And I'll be hard-pressed to let the latter act so cavalier in the future. Not if I can help it, anyway.

However, I'm also _definitely_ gonna invest in an extra Kevlar vest for our newest member. Just in case.

Particularly since I don't want something like this, no matter how minor the paramedic is currently telling me it really is, _ever_ happening again. Especially to someone who I'm finally starting to understand and appreciate and maybe even enjoy the company of.

From now on though, I'm watching his back. Whether he likes it or not. Of that, I'm sure.

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 _ **FIN.**_

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 _ **Ending Author's Notes**_ : Kay's voice was quite a bit more difficult and challenging for me than Cam's, mostly because I'm not a cop or FBI agent and I struggle with the lingo. Plus, I had to toe the line of how much Kay actually likes this quite cheeky Cam fellow tagging along with her, during this rather early period in their working relationship. Does she still feel like Cam is a burden, one she'd do better without needing to shoulder? Or is he a legitimate aid to her investigations? Or is he a bit of both? In the end, I chose that third option.

 _ **So, how'd I do?!**_

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